


Morning Sun

by InexpungibleParonomasia



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InexpungibleParonomasia/pseuds/InexpungibleParonomasia
Summary: "What do you mean? That's exactly what you said. You promised that uh... you'd brew coffee and bring it to me, because you're so nice."





	Morning Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyromaniacal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyromaniacal/gifts).



The first thing Zosimos saw when he opened his eyes that morning was Whitaker, staring at him intently like he was trying to wake him up just with the power of his gaze. Upon seeing him awake, the amnesiac's eyes lit up. "Good morning," the survivor said, stifling a yawn.

"Good morning," the amnesiac replied with a tired smile.

"How long have you been staring at me like that?"

Whitaker yawned. "I wasn't really _staring_ , y'know. I was, uh..." Zosimos looked at him skeptically. "Yeah. A couple minutes."

"You could've woken me up."

The amnesiac shook his head. "No... I have my coffee, so I'm fine, but you need sleep."

The survivor gave him a concerned look. "You need sleep as well."

"Not really..." The amnesiac ignored the way Zosimos opened his mouth to protest. "And speaking of which, I would really love a cup of coffee right now..."

"Are we getting up?"

Whitaker turned to face the ceiling. "I don’t really want to..."

"Me neither. But someone has to."

The amnesiac glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "So, you're going to get me coffee? Woah, that's so nice of you."

Zosimos sat up, his elbows bearing his weight, and raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I said."

"What do you mean? That's exactly what you said. You promised that uh... you'd brew coffee and bring it to me, because you're so nice. Those exact words." Whitaker couldn't keep a smile from forming on his face. "You said, 'Whitaker, I'm going to brew coffee and bring it to you, because I'm so nice'," he added in a poor imitation of the other man's voice.

Zosimos's shoulders shook with laughter. "I'm not getting up."

The amnesiac turned and buried his face into the pillow. "Rock paper scissors?" His voice came out muffled.

"What was that?"

Whitaker lifted his head. "Rock paper scissors?"

Zosimos considered this for a second. "Fine." He stuck his hand out.

Whitaker did the same before rapidly chanting, "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot."

Zosimos glanced at the amnesiac's hand–he'd drawn paper. He curled his hand into a fist. "Rock."

The amnesiac stared down at his open palm as if it had betrayed him. "Two out of three?" he asked tentatively.

The survivor shook his head. He was trying to hide his amusement.

"Fine... If I ask if you cheated, I guess the answer’s going to be–"

Zosimos couldn't hold back his laughter anymore. "Yes."

Whitaker looked up, seemingly confused. "Sorry?"

"I did cheat," Zosimos clarified with the smugness of a criminal confessing to their most terrible crime.

"Wow. Why... _how_ did you cheat at rock paper scissors?" Though the amnesiac's tone was full of judgment, a smile was beginning to spread across his face.

"Prestidigitators want what I have." Zosimos collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh. "I don't want to get up," he muttered.

"I would get up for you and get you some tea, but... I think that would be enabling your cheating problem... So I guess you'll have to get up and make me some coffee."

"Because I'm so nice."

Whitaker nodded, closing his eyes. "Because you're so nice."

"Don't fall asleep."

"I don't think I can make any promises."

The survivor was already putting on his sweater. "You're betraying me here," he said, sounding mock-offended. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Whitaker's forehead.

"Hmm. At least _I_ didn't cheat at rock paper scissors..."

The survivor was saying something, but Whitaker was unable to focus on the words. Minutes later, the scent of coffee filled the house. The amnesiac couldn't sense it. He was already asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
